


High School Reunion

by somekindofseizure



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: kateyes224: You know what trope I haven’t read in awhile that I’m really in the mood for? Scully and/or Mulder asking the other to be their obligatory plus one for ________ (insert random event here, i.e. wedding, high school reunion, family function, whatever).





	High School Reunion

The trash can reels on its bottom with the force of Mulder’s crumpled up pitch. He tosses almost everything across the room into the garbage this way – sandwich wrappers, dead pens, sometimes even a sacrificed sunflower seed – but the way this one peels dramatically around the rim before it drops tells her: this one, I mean.

“Ah, the high school reunion,” she says as she uncrumples it. He scowls into his collar and she nods. “You’re one of those.”

It’s been three years they’ve known each other but she didn’t realize. Family tragedy yes, but that didn’t mean anything. For all she knew, he’d been a tall popular jock with tons of girlfriends, only just resorted to antisocial self-destructivism in his thirties after a series of professional disappointments.

“Why? You like them?”

“No, I don’t go to mine.”

He nods, and she can practically hear, taste, touch the relief in the air. For all their differences, somehow this one might have been the breaking point – their opinions on high school reunions.

“Stupid, really,” he says. “Everyone just going to prove to everyone else that they got the thing no one thought they could get, be the thing no one thought they could be.”

“A lot of people do get and become those things,” she says, wondering momentarily what those things are for her. She became a doctor. She has a badge that proves her braveness. She’s lost the five pounds that she vapidly spent energy believing to be the obstruction of all that is good and holy in the world. It’s not the marriage and kids. Those weren’t things she wanted when she was young. Those were things everyone else was going to get. What would she be missing? Why hasn’t she gone to her high school reunions?

“And what do you want them to think you are?”

He looks up at her, a sheepish quarter-smile grin on his face, the wrinkle of honesty across his forehead. She nods. A superhero. A spy. A father. A hall of fame baseball player.

“Getting laid,” he says. “Just someone who’s getting profusely laid.”

“Done,” she says and he shifts in his seat, mutters something incoherently. She waves off his anxieties. “I’m just saying I can be your date, I’ll make them think you’re getting profusely laid.”

“You can do that?”

She owns a pair of very high, sharp heels. She owns tight dresses and wet looking lipstick. She has in the past been the person profusely laying another person. It is not such a stretch.

“I’ll try not to take offense at that,” she says. 

“Do I get to call you by your first name?”

“That or a term of endearment, or it’ll be unconvincing.”

“You’re on…” and she tries not to beam thinking of the look he’s going to have on his face when she steps into the car in something she can barely breathe in, of the way his heart will pound against her palm when she drapes herself over him by the cheese tray and whispers ostentatiously that she wants to get out of there. “…Sweetheart.”


End file.
